One dark winter, a great bear came down from the bitter cold of the mountains and made a den in the river upstream of a tribe of fishers. Its hair was shaggy and black as night, and its roar could flatten trees and make the bravest warrior quail with fear. It caught every fish in the waterfall before it could reach the tribe's fishing grounds, and soon, hunger stalked the tribe, especially its elders.

The chieftain sought the wisdom of the wise-woman, then called the hunters of the tribe. "Whoever brings me the hide of this bear will have a triple share of fish, and first choice of all hunt, for a year and a day," she proclaimed. But while this was a great prize indeed, few took up the spear, for the bear struck fear into all hearts.

Etsija deemed herself the greatest hunter in all the tribes, but long she had wished for the love of Tahti, who spurned her, calling her too selfish and prideful. "If I slay the bear, he will think well of me, surely," she thought, and asked the wise-woman for the wisdom of the spirits. But when she heard the answer, she was wroth. "If you claim the prize of the bear's hide, you will never win the prize of Tahti's love, so long as you live."

Surely the spirits could not be so cruel! She stormed off in anger. Now a rival would defeat the bear and claim Tahti's love, and she would be a laughing-stock! It could not be borne! When the chieftain called for hunters, she hefted high her great-spear, and her shield strengthened with the hide of a great bear she had hunted the past summer. Three other spears were also raised, not as high, not as shining, not as proud. Four hunters strode into the sunset, and long into the night, the tribe heard distant roars, and cries of pain and strife.

The sun awoke to silence, then the sound of feet in water. Etsija alone strode down the river, a great, hoary hide over her back. Many were the wounds on her, her blood feeding the river, fish now trailing in her wake. All the tribe saw her there to hoist her shattered spear to the sky and cry defiant triumph. But Tahti turned away.

"You have done what no other could," the chieftain said to her. But she strode past him heedless of his words, and all who saw were astonished. She stopped Tahti and said unto him, "This is for you to give to who you deem to be in greatest need." She cast down her spear and turned to press into his hands the bear's shaggy hide.

"But why?" Tahti said. "You and your family are hungry as well, and the prize is great." Etsija answered, "I have heard the wisdom of the spirits. Better to be hungry in the belly than in the heart." She strode away to have her hurts tended, and Tahti claimed the prize, giving his rights to extra fish and first pick to the eldest of the tribe, those in most need.

When he found her in her bed of healing, Tahti said, "You are too full of pride, but I have seen wrongly what pride means to you. Your regard for your skill is hard-earned, and your spear serves not to feed yourself but all the clan when the fisher's nets run empty. I have misjudged you." And Etsija smiled as he took her hand, for she knew the spirits had spoken truth.